Linger
by desespoir
Summary: On the anniversary of Voldemort's death, Hermione Granger disappears. Two years later, she comes back but something's not right. Draco/Hermione. WIP.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**_:_

_I have this faint sense of nostalgia._

-*-

Hermione Granger had always been known as a girl who possessed both sense and sensibility. She was bursting full of pride, loyalty, knowledge, and compassion. She was the essence of Gryffindor and to her two best friends, she meant the world as they were to her.

After decades of strife and lingering dissonance and hatred, Voldemort was finally defeated. He would not be back to terrorize the Wizarding world in a third war and Harry Potter and the Order could finally rest in peace. After the final battle, it seemed that nothing could go wrong and everything was finally beginning to calm down and go the way it was supposed to be.

They could finally live the lives they were always meant to live. They were free. They were no longer bound by duty, name, or the weight of a lightning bolt scar.

Yet, one year to the anniversary of Lord Voldemort's timely death, Hermione Granger disappeared.

-*-

"How many times do I have to tell you that the packets of brown sugar go next to the packets of white sugar?"

Viola Reine stared pointedly at the now blushing waitress as she reorganized the shelf, turning her back to the girl, "Honestly," she muttered to herself, "You'd think I was asking her to perform magic or something."

Satisfied with the state of the cabinet, she turned back around to address the girl, her brow furrowing in irritation when she realized that the newly hired waitress had scurried into the front of the café, pretending to clean tables, clearly wishing to avoid the now cranky brunette.

Viola let out a sigh as she wiped her hands against her white apron. It was a quiet afternoon which was rare for the café. She leaned against the counter, closing her brown eyes for a moment, enjoying the relative peace that had settled around her. She'd been working at Crystal Café for nearly two years now and though she loved her job more than anything else she had in her modest life, she couldn't help but crave something more. Something challenging, exciting, and different.

She knew she was being a fool. She wasn't born into a life of privileges and options. Her parents had died when she was seventeen in a car accident. With no other living relation, she was left to fend for herself. The little money they had left her was enough for her to live on for a few years but she needed a job. Left with no other decision, Viola dropped out of school and bought a bus ticket to Edinburgh. She had always wanted to visit Scotland and she could no longer deal with the memories and her past in London. She needed to be in a new atmosphere and surrounding.

Viola opened her eyes and let out a sigh. She really needed to stop thinking about the past and what could have been. She should be content with her life. She was luckier than most and her life could easily be described as comfortable yet she couldn't push down the yearning in her stomach. She bit her lower lip in frustration, mostly directed at herself. She refused to do this again.

Her hand drifted to her back pocket as she took out a worn photograph. It was relatively small, fitting in the palm of her hand. Every time she looked at it, it seemed to take her breath away. She had found it in her jean pocket a few weeks after she moved and immediately was taken aback by the shocking platinum blonde hair and the piercing silver eyes the sitter possessed. What was most captivating about the photograph, however, was the genuine smile upon his charming, aristocratic face that photographs rarely seemed to capture. He was beautiful, whoever he was, and evidently rich, based upon the luxurious black robes he wore. He seemed to be from an entirely different world altogether. She couldn't remember how she got this photograph or who it was in the picture. Every time her mind seemed to drift to him, she would feel a migraine start to form and immediately shift her thoughts. By now, Viola had simply accepted that whoever this mystery man was, he would have to, for the time being, remain enshrouded in darkness.

Viola gently caressed the photograph, a small smile gracing her feminine features before she placed a gentle kiss to the corner of the photograph.

No matter what she did, she couldn't get rid of the feeling that at one point in her life, she loved him. She smiled sadly to herself.

Maybe he was thinking of her too.

-*-


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter 1: I cannot seem to operate now you, my love, are gone. **

_So, glide away and so be healed and promise not to promise anymore. And, if you come around again then I will take the chain from off the door. I'll never say I'll never love  
but I don't say a lot of things and you my love are gone_. – Ingrid Michaelson, "The Chain"

Pansy Parkinson was not considered to be a conventional beauty. Her dark, almost jet-black, hair flowed down her back, impossibly straight with a slight curl at the very tip. Her eyes were a shimmering blue, almost husky-like in their intensity, and never failed to captivate even the most obstinate of men. She pursed her lips together as she stepped away from the door. She shrugged off her jacket, tossing it against the nearest chair, revealing a dress that left little to the imagination. The silky material clung to her hips, molding against her curves as she walked towards the lone figure in the room who was casually lounging in his rich, brown leather chair, completely unaware of her presence and the outside world. He was beautiful, dressed in a deep green button-down shirt, his pale skin glistened against the moonlight coming through the windows.

"Sickle for your thoughts?"

His grey eyes flashed open at the sound. Pansy put her hand on her hip, a smirk forming on her lips as she watched him react. He visibly tensed for a moment before he sighed, taking a sip of the drink he held in his hands.

"Same thoughts as every night. Not worth nearly a sickle, I'm afraid."

"Then why don't I," she whispered huskily as she walked around his desk and leaned down towards him, running her hands down his chest, "put a stop to all this noise in here." She placed a kiss to his temple, "Hmm?"

She could feel him tensing up again as she continued her caresses but shook her head in determination. Draco Malfoy would not reject her again. He had been in mourning long enough. "It's been nearly two years," she whispered against his cheek as she straddled him, taking the drink out of his hands and placing it on the desk.

He grabbed the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white. He made no move to stop her, his eyes staring beyond her to the wall, seemingly entranced at a fixed point.

"She's gone, Draco," her voice coated over him like honey, "She left. Her-"

"Don't say her name," he growled, pushing back the chair, standing up to his full height. At nearly 6"2, he cut an impressive figure. His platinum blonde hair was shorter than it was in his school days, now cleanly cut. He pushed a lingering strand away from his face, his eyes turning into a molten silver as he glared at her.

Pansy landed unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. She frowned and huffed to herself. Apparently, he was going to put up a fight. She brushed the dust from her dress and as gracefully as she could manage, picked herself off the ground, refusing to let his towering figure intimidate her.

"You can't live in denial forever, Draco," she snapped, now annoyed. "No one has heard a single word from her in two years. She's the smartest girl of our age. If she wanted to hide herself, she will, as she's so clearly done."

"She didn't leave," his voice strained as he attempted to mollify the anger stirring within him.

"Then what happened to her?" Pansy demanded, her eyes narrowed, "Potter is Head Auror and the entire Wizarding world has been looking for her but to no avail. Do you honestly believe he could've defeated the Dark Lord but not find a single girl if she wanted to be found? She is gone. The princess of Gryffindor is no more, Draco. Accept it. The war got to her," she exhaled, closing her eyes momentarily as she held back the memories, "It got to all of us. She cracked and she left. That's all there is to it."

"I can't believe that," he said simply, his face resolved. "She wouldn't have left like that. She wouldn't have left without a word. She would've said goodbye."

"And, have you and the rest of the bloody world put a stop to her plans?" Pansy asked sharply. "You never would've let her leave you and neither would Potter or Weasley." She let out another sigh, "You all needed her too much."

He was silent for a few moments, as if absorbing her words. "I still feel her, Pansy," Draco confessed quietly, his eyes boring a hole into the ground as he ran his fingers through his hair. "It's like I can feel her right next to me and every time I reach out to touch her, she disappears. It's like I can never-," he shook his head and trailed off.

Pansy watched him sadly, her heart breaking a bit for the shattered man in front of her. Hermione Granger, what have you done? She took a few hesitant steps towards him and placed a hand against his chest, avoiding his questioning glance. "I know you still love her but don't you just get tired of it all?" She continued, despite his silence, "I can help you forget," she leaned up, whispering against his lips, "Just for tonight."

"I can't-"

She brushed her lips against his teasingly, "Just for tonight. You need this."

Without looking or even glancing in her direction, he grabbed her body and roughly smashed their lips together. She smiled against his lips as she felt his resolve crumble beneath their kisses. She moaned in approval, shifting her weight and pulling him on top of her as she lied back on the table, wrapping her legs around his hips. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, dueling with his as she ripped his shirt off, the buttons flying across the study. She hungrily kissed his bare chest, fumbling with his belt buckle. Her body thrummed with anticipation as she pushed his trousers off and within a moment, he was inside her, pushing into her gloriously as stars exploded behind her eyes.

Pansy panted against his ear, holding his body close as they moved together. Draco slammed into her frantically, not making a single sound, merely indulging in the physical. He couldn't look at Pansy and he couldn't pretend it was _her_.

They moved silently. Pansy moaned every so often, running her hands up and down his back as she placed kisses to his face, neck and chest. Draco, however, continued to thrust without care, his eyes closed, his mind far away. A strangled moan escaped from his throat as he climaxed, his ears blocking out Pansy's screams of pleasure.

_Forgive me._

-*-

"Malfoy! I swear, you have had one too many chocolate frogs," Hermione chastised as she put a hand on her hip, pouting as he fidgeted yet again. "Will you please just sit still? You're acting like a five-year-old."

"Keep in mind, _Granger_," he emphasized, "that I am doing you a favor. It's not every day an amateur artist like yourself can have the great Draco Malfoy as a sitter." He smirked at her outraged expression, "I'll have you know that many great artists in the past have begged to paint my family members but only the most exceptional were granted this artistic favor." He leaned towards her, his hands reaching out to grab her as he added, "And, if I remember correctly, it was 'Oh, Draco, Draco' this morning," his smirk grew, "and last night and oh," he lifted a finger to his chin, pretending to ponder, "and the night before as well."

"Shut up, you tosspot," Hermione smacked him half-heartedly and let out a girly squeal as he pulled her closer, breathing in the smell of her.

"Tosspot?" He said with a pout, "You wound me."

"Nothing will ever wound that over-inflated ego of yours," she returned with a gentle smile, kissing him softly. He wound his fingers through her curls, deepening the kiss with a moan, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She was intoxicating. He cradled her face with his other hand before moving it down over her body. He loved the feel of her—so warm and soft.

Hermione felt him reach under her shirt, the pads of his fingertips grazing against her hardened nipples. She jumped out of his reach and with a devilish smile she returned to her place behind the camera, "Behave yourself. You're going to wrinkle your robes and we can't have you looking anything less than pristine now, can we?"

"You're a tease," he said with a playful growl before he readjusted himself. He ran his hand through his hair, the strands falling perfectly back into place. Within moments, Draco Malfoy was perfectly poised once again.

"You disgust me with how pretty you are sometimes."

He raised an eyebrow in amusement, "Jealous, darling?"

"Of course not, honeybunch," she returned before she snapped a few pictures. She frowned slightly, though her expression was hidden behind the camera, "Will you stop smirking and just smile?"

He continued smirking for a few more shots until Hermione let out a sign of frustration, "Malfoy! Stop being a prat."

"I don't understand why you can't use a Wizarding camera? You're bound to get a smile in a photograph at some point if you do."

"I happen to enjoy muggle photography, I'll have you know. I find it to be more enjoyable. There's more of an artistic process."

"An artistic process?" Draco snorted. "Trust you to be the one who enjoys something that requires more work."

Hermione merely ignored his comment and grinned, "Stop talking. Now, smile."

"You have to earn it."

She rolled her eyes, "And, just what do I have to do before you decide to grace my presence with a smile, Lord Malfoy?"

"Say it."

She shook her head, her eyes softening with adoration, "I love you."

"I love you," he smiled.

She snapped the shot.

-*-

Viola hummed softly to herself as she busied herself with cleaning up the café. It was her favorite time of the day. All the customers and regular staff had left and it was the one quiet hour she had to herself without disturbances. She twirled around the café, dancing to herself, her body moving gracefully around the chairs and tables as she finished her mopping. The owners of the café, a nice, old Scottish couple originally from Aberdeen, had trusted her enough to take care of most of the responsibilities. Within a few short months, she had basically been running the café by herself. She enjoyed being given a challenge and also found delight in the independence.

She was almost done wiping down the tables when she heard the crash from the back room. Brow furrowed, Viola threw the rag onto the counter, wiping her hands against the apron as she moved towards the back. She turned on the light, frowning when no light came on. Annoyed, she muttered to herself as she realized a box of plastic utensils had fallen from its shelf and was now scattered all over the ground. She bent down and began to pick up the pieces when she felt someone grab her from behind, the smell of tobacco and alcohol invading her senses before she felt a sharp pain in her neck and head and the world went dark.

Viola awoke to a scream. Her mind was groggy as she cracked open one eye, her hand coming up to the side of her face to block the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

"Viola? Viola?" Shannon, the waitress with the morning shift leaned over her, her pretty face marred with worry, "What happened to you? Viola, can you hear me?"

Slowly, she sat up with her help, her mind still readjusting to the circumstances.

"Viola, what the hell happened here?"

Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke, "My name is Hermione."

-*-


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter 2: Forever**

_Where'd you go? I miss you so. Seems like it's been forever that you've been gone. Please come back home._ – Fort Minor, "Where'd you go?"

This couldn't possibly be real.

Hermione stood in front of 12 Grimmauld Place, watching with wide eyes as the building parted to make way for Harry's residence. Slowly but surely, it began to emerge, as it always did, from what seemed like thin air. She smiled softly to herself as she realized that even after all this time, Harry had never set any wards against her and that she was still considered to be a guest. She supposed she shouldn't have been as daunted as she was, taking a hesitant step towards the house. The impact of her flat boots against the cement sent a shiver up her spine and she visibly shook in discomfort.

She was a witch. She had magical powers. She was the best friend of the savior of the Wizarding world and all this time, she didn't have a clue, living an innocuous lifestyle as a waitress in a neighborhood café. She had dueled, battled, and been in the front line in war yet only mere hours ago, she had been serving coffee, completely oblivious to her previous life.

How the hell did this happen?

She still retained all her memories as "Viola". Part of her was still "Viola". She hadn't been Hermione in two incredibly long years. It would be so easy to simply turn the other way and return to the café. After all, she had merely brushed Shannon off with a few threadbare lies about migraines and dizziness before she rushed out of the café and bought the next bus ticket to London. She had a life in Edinburgh. She could go back.

Hermione shook her head adamantly and silently berated herself. No. She was not a coward. She needed answers. What happened to her in the first place? Why were her memories taken from her? Why did no one come after her? Did they search for her? She found it highly unlikely that they did a very thorough job as she was living in Edinburgh, of all places. It was a mere hour away from Hogwarts. Even if she was living in the muggle part, it wasn't as if she was hidden away in a remote part of a faraway island. She was still in the bloody United Kingdom, for goodness sakes! How could they let her go so easily?

Hermione blinked back tears. Now was not the time to get emotional. The more pressing matters were who took her memories from her, why, and most importantly, why were they given back to her? Whoever did this was incredibly intelligent, going so far as to fabricate a rather intricate back story for "Viola". It was powerful magic, a perverse form of mind control. A simple _Obliviate _could not have done this.

Hermione's mind swirled with questions and confusion as she looked up at the house. It was still as she remembered. She looked down the street, the brightly lit neon sign of the chip shop beamed back at her and she almost snickered as she recalled the many times she, Harry, and Ron would sneak out of the Order's hiding place for a midnight snack.

She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. She knocked on the door, at first gently but then with more confidence. By the fifth knock, she was almost beating down the door. She took a step back in surprise, completely caught up in the repetitive act as the door flung open and she was greeted by the unfamiliar face of a house elf. Hermione frowned in confusion. Harry did still live here, correct?

"Welcome to the House of Potter," the elf bowed, "How can Wikki be of service?"

Hermione restrained herself from bending down to the elf's level and lifting him up. He was bowing down so low that his nose nearly touched the ground. "I'm Hermione Granger. I'm looking for Harry."

"Who's at the door, Wikki?" A deep baritone called from down the long hallway.

Hermione froze, her hand immediately grabbing onto the doorframe as she felt her knees shake. Harry. It was really Harry.

"A Miss Granger, Master Potter."

"Wikki, you must be mistaken and we don't-"

She should look up. She should look up and hug her best friend yet she could not bring herself to physically move her body. She gripped the frame harder as she steeled herself and cleared her throat, "Hi Harry."

He was still as handsome as she remembered him to be. His hair was a bit longer than it was before, slightly shaggier and still as messy as ever. His trademark glasses were slightly askew, his green eyes stunned with shock.

"Hermione?" His voice was raspy with disbelief. He took a cautious step forwards, "How? You're-" He wrenched her from the door frame and gathered her in a strong hug, tears stinging his eyes, "It's really you."

She returned the hug with equal fervor, a small laugh escaping from her lips as she tried her best not to cry, "I missed you."

"I missed you," he said, letting out a laugh as well. He ran a hand through his hair, uncertain of what to say next. "Do you want some tea?"

"That sounds lovely," she smiled, wiping a stray tear from her cheek as she followed him down the hallway and into the kitchen. Her curious brown eyes scanned every surface of what once used to be the dark and cavernous Noble House of Black. It seemed Harry had done some redecorating. The walls were covered with solid, dark blue wallpaper with flecks of green and orange appearing every so often. The staircase was no longer old and rickety, now a rich mahogany wood with blue carpet on each step as an accent. All the old paintings of the Black line had been removed, instead replaced with pictures of friends. Hermione smiled softly, stopping in front of a picture of her, Ron, and Harry in third-year. It was winter and she was wearing an incredibly fuzzy hat over her even fuzzier hair as she ran away from Ron and Harry who were throwing snowballs at her. They had been so young then.

"I got tired of hearing that I was half-blood scum every time I walked out of my room so I did a little redecorating."

"It looks beautiful," Hermione said honestly as she moved onto the next picture. It was of Harry and Ginny. Ginny's arms were wrapped around his neck as he leaned down to give her a kiss, both laughing and waving at the camera. She was wearing a long, white dress and her red hair was styled into a chignon, little white flowers framing her face.

"Did you-?" Hermione found herself at a loss for words.

"About three months ago," Harry said quietly. He lifted his hand with a smile, the gold band glimmering in the light.

He was married. Her best friend had gotten married and she didn't even attend the ceremony. It wasn't until that moment that the severity of the situation dawned upon her. Someone had _stolen_ two years of her life from her. Every laugh, hug, kiss, touch, caress – she would never experience any of it. The chance had been taken away from her. What else had she missed?

"Congratulations." It was the only thing she could say and she moved awkwardly to him, giving him another hug as she spoke genuinely, "I'm sorry I missed it." She felt him stiffen at her words and without responding, he moved into the kitchen, busying himself with making tea. She frowned but held back the hurt and anger simmering in the pit of her stomach. They had a lot to talk about before she would jump to any conclusions.

"So, where have you been?" His question came out sharper than he intended. Harry bit the inside of his cheek, trying his best to sort out the emotions within him. He refused to turn around, not seeing her flinch at his tone or the pained expression upon her face.

She drummed her fingers against the wooden table as she sought to formulate an answer. There was so much that she needed to tell him and make him understand and so much that she wanted answered. They had to start somewhere, she supposed.

"Edinburgh."

-*-

Draco's eyes snapped open as he felt the first ray of sunlight stream across the room through the dark, heavy drapery. He pushed the hair out of his face as he sat up in bed, his limbs aching in protest from the movement. He let out a mild groan as he felt the bed shift, not from his own weight. Fuck.

He had slept with Pansy Parkinson. Fuck.

Of all the idiotic things he had ever done, this one most definitely topped the list. He got out bed gingerly, avoiding her wanting body and arms. He needed a shower.

The water was scalding hot, the steam rising and permeating throughout the bathroom as he stepped in through the glass door. It felt like heaven against his skin as it beat down upon him. What the hell had he been thinking? He knew it shouldn't feel like a betrayal but he couldn't suppress the feelings of guilt building up within him. It almost felt like he was cheating on _her_. It was a ridiculous notion, however. They were no longer together. In order to be in a relationship with someone, said person had to be present and for the past two years, he had been waiting, praying, hoping that one of these days, she would reappear. Where the hell was she? Was she happy? Was she safe? Was she dead?

He shook his head. No, she couldn't be dead. He could still feel her. He could still feel her skin against his fingertips, could still see the blush forming on her cheeks as his hand glided across her face. He could still feel her very essence. Hermione Granger consumed and intoxicated his every sense. She was still alive. Somewhere.

Pansy's words echoed in his mind. _She's gone, Draco. She left._

She didn't leave. She wouldn't have left him. He loved her too much for her to do that. She loved _him_ too much for her to do that. Right? For the first time in his life, he began to question himself and his stubborn certainty. She would never leave him. She would never leave Potter and Weasley –not so suddenly and definitely not without another word. Something must've happened, someone must've forced her. He swallowed the lump that grew in his throat. He had searched for her himself, right alongside Potter, for the first year and some months into the next. He had refused to give up, knowing that she was somewhere out there—alone, cold, and most likely lost. He was the last person to give up. Even when the ministry filed away her case as an "unexplained disappearance", pushing her case to the background, declaring there were other more pertinent and important cases to focus on, he never gave up. He continued searching.

It was only a few months ago he finally gave up. He had been in his study, rifling through old files when a picture of he and Hermione fell into his lap. It had been taken in their fifth-year, only a few months after they began their relationship. It had remained a secret to most of the school and only a select few, including the bumbling duo that she called her best friends, knew of their affection for one another. They were still pretending to hate each other yet even with his best acting, he couldn't hide the adoration he had for her behind his grey eyes. She simply stared up at him, a warm expression of love gracing her features, before she turned away. It was a stolen moment, caught on camera by Ginny Weasley.

He had stared at the picture for what seemed like hours before he put it back where he found it, pushing the box into the corner of the study, and her memory into the recesses of his mind. She would want for him to move on. That was the moment he decided to stop his search and let Hermione Granger's memory rest in peace.

The water had run cold. Draco leaned his forehead against the wall, relishing the feel of the cool surface before he turned the shower off and pushed himself back. Time to face another day.

He performed a quick drying spell over his body and hair before he entered his closet, not even sparing a glance at Pansy's still-sleeping body on his bed. He merely dressed, hoping she would see herself out at some point. He didn't want to have to see her again for, what he hoped, would be a very long time. When he was fully dressed, he walked briskly out the room, closing his door with a soft click.

Pansy sat up in the bed when she finally heard the door close, signaling Draco's exit. She held the sheets close to her chest, holding back her sobs. She closed her eyes, lost in memories of the night before.

_Forgive me, Draco._

-*-

"Edinburgh?" Harry asked, seemingly completely bewildered by this response. "You were that close all along?" He set a cup of tea in front of Hermione and one in front of himself as he pulled up a chair.

Hermione mumbled her thanks before she nursed it, wrapping her hands around the cup, delighting in the way it warmed her body. "I didn't exactly choose to wind up there."

Harry raised an eyebrow before leaning in closer. He cleared his throat, "What exactly happened two years ago, Hermione? Why did you leave?"

"I didn't leave!" She said forcefully, surprisingly him with her sudden cry, "Someone performed some sort of spell or curse or something on me, Harry. I completely forgot who I was. I had absolutely no memory of you or Ron or anyone else in my life. Someone took my memories."

"Someone obliviated you?" His green eyes were wide with concern.

"No," she shook her head, "It couldn't have been that. I _thought_ I was Viola Reine. For two years, I lived under the guise of a falsehood. Whoever did this performed powerful magic. I still have all her memories in addition to my own. They weaved too complicated a back story for it to be a simple _Obliviate_. I can tell you the names of my supposed parents and where I grew up." Hermione gripped the cup fiercely, "It's like I have two completely different lives."

"Did you ever get headaches or migraines?"

"Yes, but only when I tried to remember a detail that I guess hadn't been written out for me," she replied bitterly. "I never thought anything of it."

There was silence for a few moments as Harry processed everything she had just said. Her voice was shaking when she asked, "Did you ever look for me?"

"Of course," he replied immediately, "We looked everywhere for you, Hermione," Harry took her hand in his, "I didn't want to stop looking but the Ministry put your case on hold after a year. We had nothing. No leads, no possibilities, and we looked everywhere for you." He scoffed at himself, "I can't believe you've been in Edinburgh this entire time. It makes the entire Auror department seem like a mockery."

"Don't say that, Harry."

"I've let you down, Hermione. I never should've stopped looking," he turned away and let out a sigh of guilt and regret, "After a year, we all thought you didn't want to be found and that you had left."

Hermione felt a stabbing pain at his words, "I would never have left willingly. This is my home, Harry. The Wizarding world is my home. London is my home. I would never leave especially not without a word."

They both looked up at the clock as it signaled the time.

"It's 6:00. Ginny will be home soon."

Hermione smiled, "I've missed her."

Only seconds later, they both heard a pop and the familiar voice of a tiny redhead float down the hallway. "Harry, do you mind if we just order in tonight? I do not feel like-" She stopped at the doorway, her voice trailing off as her eyes began tearing up at the sight in front of her. "Hermione?" she gasped.

"Hi, Gin," Hermione said shyly, standing up slowly. In the next instant, she saw a flash of red before she felt the impact of Ginny's petite body against her own, "I missed you."

"You're really back," Ginny said, regaining her voice, "You're here. Where have you been? What happened to you?" She turned to Harry, "Did you owl Ron and-" she paused, nodding her head towards Hermione.

"Oh yes!" Harry moved towards a desk in corner, "Right, of course."

Ginny turned back towards Hermione with a bright smile, "Tell me everything."

-*-

Hermione had just finished recounting her story when she heard another pop. She smiled, tears returning once again to her eyes, "Hi Ron."

"Hermione?" His face was incredulous. He merely stared at her for a few moments, shifting his weight from one leg to the other uncomfortably.

"Well, what are you just standing there for, you big buffoon?" Ginny chastised, "Give her a hug."

Ron approached her awkwardly, giving her a quick hug and pat on the back before he released her and returned to the corner where he first appeared. Hermione leaned against the table, her face mixed with confusion and hurt. "I guess I should explain where I've been," she started quietly.

"Explain what?" He asked, his voice attempting nonchalance. "You left without an explanation and were gone for two bloody years. Why start now?"

"Ron!" Ginny interrupted, outraged.

"No," Hermione stopped her, "I know what you must think of me," she said, taking a step forward, "Believe me. I never meant to hurt anyone."

"Yeah, well you did. You hurt a whole lot of people," he said, his voice rising, "You can't just come back here and expect everyone to be waiting with open arms. You left us!"

"I didn't choose to leave, Ronald," her voice shaking with anger and pain, "Someone forced me to. Someone stole my memories and for two years, I never knew this life existed. I can't expect you to understand how it would possibly feel for someone to invade your privacy as intimately as that. Do you think I wanted to leave my family and friends and everything that I knew? I would never leave without a word. How could you even think I would do something like that to hurt you all?"

They all look down in guilt, each one of them had, at one point, believed that she had left on her own accord.

"Ron," Ginny snapped, "If you can't stop acting like a cur then go outside and come back when you can behave properly."

Ron looked around the room, seeing the disappointment in Ginny and Harry's eyes and the hurt in Hermione's. The door slammed behind him as he exited.

"Let him be," Ginny said, patting Hermione on the shoulder, "He's just being a child."

"You believe me, right?" She asked, "You know I'm telling the truth."

"Of course," Ginny responded, giving her a tight hug, "I'm just happy to have you back."

-*-

Draco massaged his temples as he sat back against the leather chair in his study. His meeting with the board of governors had gone relatively well today. His movement for more intra-house unity had passed and steps were already beginning to be taken by both Hogwarts staff and students. He smiled at himself, how proud his father would've been to know that his only son was following in his footsteps in becoming a governor yet not towards any of the means that he had pushed for himself. He laughed bitterly.

Both his parents had been lost to the war. His father was killed in battle, even to the last, declaring his loyalty to Voldemort and the belief of blood purity. His mother had survived the actual battle but with heavy wounds, having been Crucio'd by Fenrir Greyback and then her beauty destroyed by Lord Voldemort himself when he learned of Draco's true allegiances and in accordance, Narcissa herself as she stood in front of Draco, hiding his body behind hers, refusing to let the maniac harm or touch her precious child. Voldemort had cursed her with a burning spell that left the entire left side of her face with third-degree burns. Harry Potter had stepped in at that point, dueling Voldemort until he said the killing curse to which Harry threw up a powerful and ancient protection spell, similar to the one his mother had used so many years ago. Voldemort's _Avada_ bounced back, hitting him directly in the chest, killing the last remnant of his soul, ridding the world of his dark presence once and for all.

Draco had cradled his mother's body to his as he watched the fight between the two, refusing to let go and refusing to believe that the fates were evil enough to curse him with the agony of watching his own mother die in his arms. They did, however, and only moments after Voldemort collapsed to the ground, Narcissa Malfoy took her last breath.

Draco slowly sipped the aged whisky. He swirled his glass a few times, watching as the alcohol grazed the side before settling at the bottom. He glanced at the faded tattoo on his left arm. It would always be there, serving as a hideous reminder of his less-than-savory past. It would always come back to blood, purity, and power. Even after the war, though the prime evil had been defeated, people's mentalities still remained the same and to many pureblood families, he was seen as a traitor who had betrayed his own father and lineage for a girl, a mudblood at that.

It would never change. No matter how many wars were fought and how many lives were lost and taken, it would always remain the same. What had been the purpose of it all? He wasn't so naïve as to believe that everything would magically mend itself and everyone would become friends after the war but he had believed that eventually and with time, perceptions and old grudges and prejudices would fade. They didn't.

There was a tapping against the window. He pulled himself out of his thoughts as he set down his drink, moving to let the owl in. After rewarding it with a treat, he opened the letter.

_Come to 12 Grimmauld Place as soon as you can. You need to see this. – Harry_

He frowned. Well, that was helpful. He dropped the letter on his desk as he made his way to the floo.

It was dark in the Potters' living room and he could hear voices coming from the kitchen as he made his way down the hall. For a moment, he thought he heard _her_ laugh tinkle through the air but he shook himself out of his hallucinations. He needed to stop drinking.

"Honestly, Potter, could you be more cryptic?" Draco drawled as he entered the kitchen, never taking in the girl in the corner.

"Umm, I really didn't-"

"So, what is the purpose for the hurry?"

"There," Ginny whispered as she nodded towards Hermione's direction.

The entire world seemed to come crashing back to him as he gazed intently at her. It was her. She had come back. Without another word, he crossed the room, pulling Hermione into his arms, choking back sobs of relief and happiness as he smelled her, touched her, and placed a gentle kiss against her hair. He refused to let her go, keeping his hands wrapped around her waist as she leaned back to look at him.

Her beautiful brown eyes were still sparkling with laughter, tinted with confusion, "I'm sorry but have we met before?"

-*-


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter 3: You were all mine. I was yours, right?**

_I felt you in my life before I ever thought to. I need to lay down beside you and tell you I feel you in my heart and I don't even know you._– Tegan and Sara, "Nineteen"

A few scant minutes after Draco departed for the Potter residence, a midnight black owl emerged in the sky, its wings breaking through the clouds, flying swiftly, and avoiding the light drops of rain that began to fall from the sky. It settled on the ledge of the window to Draco's study, its yellow eyes darting around the room, searching for any inhabitants before it nudged the window open further with its beak. Landing upon the desk, it dropped the note in the center, amidst scattered papers and quills before it promptly flew out the window once again.

The note was rather indiscriminate. It was written on parchment, sealed with red wax with a stamp depicting what looked like a figure, its face hidden and smudged. What was of interest, however, was the message lying within.

Beneath the seal, the note opened up to reveal two lines, written in neat form:

_I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances;  
But not for joy; not joy._

It was unsigned.

-*-

Draco could feel all the air rush out of his lungs as he stared down at her, part of him wanting to kiss every inch of her skin and relish the feel of her in his arms once again. Yet he could not avoid the confusion that marred her beautiful face nor her words. His hold on her loosened for a moment and he looked up at the two Potters, his eyes demanding an answer. Was this some form of a cruel joke?

They looked as shocked and confused as he was. Harry was the first to break the silence, clearing his throat awkwardly, "That's Draco, Hermione," he tried his best to infuse humor into his voice, "I know it's been a while and he looks a bit different but it's still him."

Hermione looked back at Draco, pushing herself out of his embrace and away from him as she tried the name out, "Draco," it felt oddly familiar in her mouth yet she couldn't remember ever meeting someone named Draco and certainly, not the handsome man standing before her. She cocked her head to the side before her eyes brightened with recognition, "You're him."

The room seem to tense with anticipation at her next action. She took a worn and slightly faded photograph out of her back pocket and handed it to Draco, "I found it in my jean pocket a few weeks after I'd gotten to Edinburgh. I didn't recognize the face and-"

Hermione held a hand to her head, massaging her temple with her fingertips. She could feel another headache begin to form as she sat down at the kitchen table, "Were you a part of my past?"

Draco gripped the photograph tightly as he stared down at the reflection of his younger self, so many years back, so happy and oblivious to the pains of the future. He felt a stabbing pain in his chest at her words. It seemed to spread throughout his body, like a slow-working poison, and soon, he found it difficult to breathe, managing only to gasp out a hollow whisper, "Yes."

"He went to school with us, Hermione. He was your year," Ginny said softly. She sat down next to her as she began to explain about whom Draco was, hoping it would spark some sort of memory.

Harry stepped closer to Draco, saying to him quietly, "She lost her memory. She never left us. Someone messed with her memories and for two years, she's been living as a muggle, never knowing of our existence. She showed up about an hour ago at my doorstep and it seemed as if she remembered everything, like the past two years has been some sort of a bad dream, but-"

"It's been a fucking nightmare, Potter," Draco growled, nearly crumpling the photograph in his hands. He threw it onto the kitchen counter, "Why doesn't she remember me?" he demanded. "She remembers you and she remembers the Weaselette. Why me? She has a fucking photograph of me, why?"

"I don't know, Malfoy. I wish I had the answers but I don't."

Draco ran a hand through his blond locks and let out a heavy sigh, "She was in Edinburgh?" He let out a scoff, "Of all places. I was there for nearly two weeks searching for her. How could I have missed it?"

Harry patted Draco on the back, the gesture strange and unfamiliar. Draco jerked away from him, avoiding his touch, "Don't try to comfort me, Potter. I don't need your pity."

Harry shot him a look of annoyance before his eyes softened as he watched Ginny talk to Hermione. Her shoulders were slumped, her head buried in her hands. "Perhaps I should try Legilimency," his voice drew the attention of everyone in the room, "The memories might just be blocked or something."

The weight on Draco's chest seemed to lighten at the suggestion. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, "Well, Granger," he raised an eyebrow, "What do you think?"

Hermione stared back, her gaze unwavering as her eyes flickered with concern and resignation. What else could she possibly say? She wanted answers. It was going to be a messy process, she could feel it, but she needed to know the truth and she needed to maintain the little control she had over her life. She could feel it all slipping through her fingers, bit by bit. She nodded her assent, eyes wide as Harry kneeled in front of her, the tip of his wand pointed directly at the center of her forehead.

"_Legilimens._"

Hermione could _feel_ him in her head and though she knew it was Harry and that she had consented and that he was only doing it to help her she couldn't help but shudder at the presence of another in her mind. She wanted to vomit and physically push him out but she was helpless as Harry sorted through her memories, searching for something that she knew instinctively wasn't there.

_First year. Bushy hair, buck teeth. "Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it?" "Now if you two don't mind, I'm going to bed before either of you can come up with another clever idea to get us all killed - or worse, expelled." Fourth year. Yule Ball. Periwinkle robes. "Next time there's a ball pluck up the courage to ask me before someone else does! And not as a last resort!" Fifth year. Umbridge. Inquisitorial Squad. Dumbledore's Army. "That foul, evil old gargoyle! We're not learn how to defend ourselves, we're not learning how to pass our O.W.L.s. She's taking over the entire school!" Seventh year. Head Girl. The final battle. Voldemort's death._

Hermione took in a large gasp of air, her throat contracted violently as she coughed. She held her hand to her head, shooting a look of annoyance and irritation at Harry. She knew he didn't deserve it, after all, she had agreed but she had always hated Legilimency and with good reason. She watched Harry's face carefully.

He seemed worn out as well, getting up slowly, his limbs protesting from the movement. "Nothing," he whispered. He seemed to be shocked at his own words, "She has memories of everyone. Me, Ron, Ginny, her parents, Dumbledore, the Weasleys, everyone except you," he turned to Draco. "Everything relating to you has been," Harry paused, uncertain if he should continue.

"Has been what, Potter?" Draco spat, "Just say it."

"Erased," Harry whispered, horrified. "This is dark magic. Hermione," he bent down again towards her, his heart breaking at her blank expression, "Someone's severely tampered with your mind. I could still feel their presence in your mind. We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise you." He vowed, "You will get all of your memories back."

Draco shook his head in frustration, "How is this possible? How can you just completely forget someone? Our last year at Hogwarts, we were practically glued at the hip. Does that mean she remembers absolutely nothing from then?"

"The images were hazy. Some moments are clear but mostly, it was just a blur."

Draco held back the snarl building in his throat. He needed to hit something, break something. He restrained himself from grabbing Hermione and shaking her violently. She had already disappeared for two years. He didn't think anything would be as painful as losing her the first time but this, this was on a completely different level. The thought that she might've been thinking about him at some point was the only thing that kept him going or that one day, she would return. There was always that possibility that she would come back and everything would be okay again. She was back and it wasn't okay. He was a stranger.

It was hell on earth.

The door to the back porch opened. Ron stepped through, his hands shoved in his pockets, his face guilty as he stepped into the room. He immediately glared at Draco. Even after all these years, they could not bring themselves to be friendly with one another. Yes, they put up with one another's presence but Ron could never bring himself to actually like or hold a pleasant conversation with him. "Malfoy," he said shortly.

"Piss off, Weasley," he sneered.

Ginny quickly interrupted before either of them could say anything further, "Please stop. Please-"

Hermione shot up off of the chair, her mind pounding, "I need some fresh air."

The entire room seemed to rush to her as they all got up, making a move towards her. She shook her head and her hands pushing the air away. It was all too suffocating. "I can't breathe. I need to think," she whispered, "Alone." Without another word, they all stood still, watching quietly as she walked out the door, out of their lives, however momentarily, yet again.

"What did you do, Malfoy?" Ron demanded as soon as the door clicked shut.

"Fuck off," Draco said derisively before he pushed past Harry, walking out of the kitchen and towards the door.

"She said she needed to be alone," Harry called out.

Draco only paused a moment, never turning back, "Do I look like I care?"

Ginny sat down gingerly at the table, flinching as Draco slammed the door shut with a loud bang, "That went well."

"What the bloody hell happened?"

She let out a sigh, "Sit down, Ron, and keep that gob of yours shut as we explain."

-*-

Draco smiled softly as he felt his beautiful girlfriend curl her petite body further into him for warmth. It was still early but he found that he couldn't sleep. He had already counted the number of cracks in the ceiling. He let out a small laugh as his hold tightened around his stubborn little Gryffindor. She had been adamant that she wanted her own apartment after they had graduated from Hogwarts, refusing to accept his offer to move to the Manor. It was too fast and she had always wanted a place of her own. She had insisted. Draco, being a man completely in love, had, at first, protested vehemently before finally acquiescing when Hermione threatened to set her wards so that he couldn't enter. She was always so bloody persistent and hard-headed, but that was one of the reasons why he adored her. He kissed his way down her face and neck, his mouth sucking gently on her shoulder, he swirled his tongue, savoring the sweet taste of her skin. He delighted in hearing her moan her approval, pushing her body further against his.

He traced his hands over her naked body, his own body responding to hers as he breathed against her neck, taking in the smell of her. She was pure perfection. He felt her turn around, her face only inches away from his as her eyes fluttered open. She placed a gentle kiss against his lips, pulling away teasingly as he tried to deepen the kiss, "Good morning."

He pouted before he kissed the top of her head, "Morning, love."

"What time is it?" she asked with a yawn, stretching her legs.

"Early," he whispered softly, pulling her body closer to his, smiling at her sweet laugh, "Plenty of time to play."

"Didn't you get enough last night?" She asked, rubbing her legs together, "I'm still sore."

"Well, you'll just have to be a brave little Gryffindor and sacrifice yourself for the common good."

"The common good?" She snorted and let out another laugh as Draco pushed her back against the bed, placing himself in between her legs, his face right above hers. "I highly doubt your sexual pleasure constitutes as the common good."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong," he whispered huskily into her ear before nipping at it. She shivered from the contact.

"Really," she raised an eyebrow, trying her best to keep her voice steady, "Why is that? I'm rarely wrong, if you recall."

"So modest," Draco murmured as he kissed her neck, his hands wrapped around her wrists, "Well, considering what a gentleman I am, I must enlighten the ignorant." He silenced her cry of outrage with a long kiss, taking his time in exploring her mouth and indulging in the sweet taste that was uniquely hers. He pulled back, breathing heavy. He rested his forehead against hers, "You're ever the humanitarian, my dear Granger. You couldn't possibly live with yourself if you knew you willingly inflicted distress upon another being and to deny me," he ground himself into her core, "would be quite distressing, indeed, and thus going against your moral code and the common good."

"You weave a convincing argument," she said against his lips, "I believe I have no choice but to give into your wishes," she wrapped her legs around his hips and pushed herself up against him.

He devoured her mouth with a passionate kiss while he pushed a finger into her, smirking as she gasped in pleasure. "You're so wet, love," he said, continuing his ministrations. He pulled his hand out of her and brought it up to his mouth, licking off her essence. She watched him with in a daze, her eyes darkening with arousal. Without another word, he pushed himself into her, a groan escaping his lips as he pounded into her.

She grabbed his biceps, digging her fingernails into his skin, leaving little half-moons, her head tossed back as her body returned his thrusts with equal fervor. He licked the sweat forming on her neck and suckled hard, wanting to leave a mark.

"You're mine," he chanted mindlessly, "All mine."

Hermione could only moan in response, wrapping her legs tighter as she felt her climax approaching.

Draco slammed into her a few more times before they both peaked, him first with her following only moments afterwards. They laid on her bed, a sweaty, tangled mess. He pushed himself off of her before wrapping his arms around her body, kissing her softly.

She looked up at him, her chocolate brown eyes bright with happiness, "Let's stay like this forever," she murmured sleepily.

"Forever."

-*-

She knew he was following her. It wasn't the sound of his footsteps that gave it away nor did he call out to her. Instead, she _felt_ him, like an insistent tug against her heart, similar to how she felt every time she looked at his photograph. She could feel that at one point in her life, he must've been of great importance but why couldn't she remember him?

She had wandered into the park. She sat down in defeat on the black bench. No matter how hard she tried to push past the pain forming in her head, she could remember nothing about him beyond what she heard tonight. His first name was Draco. His last name was Malfoy. She knew nothing else. Were they friends before? Was he in Gryffindor as well? Did he fight alongside her in the war? Was he a part of the Order?

She couldn't remember anything about him. She could feel him standing in front of her, even as she kept her gaze fixed on the black pavement below her feet. She couldn't look at him, couldn't see the pain reflected back at her in those intense grey eyes. She had hurt him and she didn't even mean to.

He sat down next to her, staying silent, waiting for her to speak to him. They simply sat there for what seemed like an eternity. He closed his eyes, leaning back, calming his nerves by listening to the sounds of her even breathing.

"Were we in love?" Her question pierced through the air, her voice shaky.

"Yes."

-*-

**Author's Note**: Hi all :) Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews. I'd love to hear any theories you might have – this is a mystery story, after all and it's my job to keep you guessing! Also, what is written on the note Draco receives does not belong to me. Those words were penned by another author many years ago but I don't want to reveal the name just yet – if you've already guessed who it is: GOOD FOR YOU :) have a cookie! – but just wait for it, if you haven't. I promise it'll all come together.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter 4: Be my unholy, my one and my lonely**

_I wear scarves and hoods because it's the only poker face that I've got left and everything I love about you is a mess. Smash the mirror, and break the palm reader's hand. I want to be better than I am_. – Timbaland featuring Fall Out Boy, "One and Only"

Her breaths were short and choppy, her posture stiff, her eyes closed. Draco felt as if he should say something to her. Anything except this silence – silence was never easy for him. He was used to noises. Throughout his entire life he had been used to large parties, facades, and noises. He wasn't a talker. Draco Malfoy was above petty conversations. His parents were never the talking type and certainly didn't spare him much time to get to know his feelings. Sure, his mother would send him presents and coddle him with hugs and kisses but they never had serious conversations about his feelings. It simply wasn't proper and therefore not done. He was a Malfoy and Malfoys were above such plebian things as having feelings. They made you weak. To care for someone was to give the reins to your heart and the potential to deeply hurt and destroy you. He had been taught by his father to never allow that to happen, but it had.

As he was sitting there beside her he could feel the knife in his heart twisting several times over. Yes, they were in love. Yes, he was still utterly, completely, desperately in love with her.

And no, silence was still not easy. It was never easy.

He wanted to scream at her. His mind was burning with frustration. What exactly was he supposed to say now? Could he really do this over again? Pretend as if he didn't love her with every fiber of his being and act as if she meant nothing more than a common acquaintance. He needed to mature, to give her space.

But, he couldn't. He was a selfish bastard and an impatient one at that. He needed for her to remember him, to take him into her arms and kiss him lightly across his face and neck as she had done so many times years ago. He needed her love. He needed _her_. He wasn't as giving as Potter. He wasn't her savior. She was his and he needed her back. He couldn't let her go again.

"I never thought they'd be able to touch my mind."

Her voice was soft yet filled with sorrow and regret. She laughed bitterly at herself, "I was so sure that it was the one thing that they could never have. Know-it-all Gryffindor. The brightest witch of our time," she snorted in derision, "I was so sure that they could never touch me."

Draco stared at her, unable to voice a response. Her arms were against her legs as she leaned forward, away from him, her eyes gazing off into the distance.

"I was so wrong," she whispered brokenly.

He reached out slowly, his fingers itching to touch her, to comfort her but they settled back into his lap. Too soon.

"I am so sick and tired of people invading my mind. It is the one thing that I have, the one thing that I am proud of and the one thing that is supposed to be mine and only mine." She looked back at him, her eyes sad, "I was tormented in school because of my Muggle heritage and 'muddy blood'."

He looked away, his throat burning with shame.

"I was foul because of my status and bloodline but I didn't care because I knew I was smarter. I knew I was better and I worked so hard to be the best. My mind was the only thing that I had and now, even that is gone."

"It's not gone," Draco said quietly. He looked into her eyes, lost in the rich swirls of caramel and chocolate brown. He reached out to her, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb caressing her soft skin, "You are still the brightest witch of your age and we will find whoever or whatever did this to you. You were never one to stand down or give up. Don't lose hope now."

She seemed surprised at his touch at first but found herself leaning into it, her eyes closing, her body lost in the sensation. He felt so familiar, so warm – like home. She was home, right? What was home? Edinburgh? London? Did she even have a home anymore? Her eyes snapped open at the last question and she found herself staring into his eyes, his expression a mix of frustration, anger, worry, and love.

She leaned forward, all too close to his face and his lips. Her breath was hot against his mouth and before she knew what she was doing, she kissed him. Gentle and soft at first but then it grew more demanding, her body needing him closer. She didn't want to think anymore. She just wanted to feel something except this unwavering fear and restlessness she had in the pit of her stomach.

His hands snaked around her waist and he pulled her in, his mouth devouring hers, giving into her insistent kiss. She needed this. He needed this. She opened his mouth to his and he delved in, exploring, their tongues fighting for dominance. His hands seemed to be all over her body, touching, caressing, craving more.

She tasted like sweet strawberries, just like how he remembered but better.

She pushed back slightly, still kissing him, but softer and more languorously now before finally pulling away, a small smile on her face. He could do nothing but smile back, brushing the hair out of her face. She leaned up placing a butterfly kiss on the corner of his mouth, her lips barely just touching his skin.

She was perfect.

Hermione smiled sweetly at him before she looked back towards the direction of Grimmauld Place, "We should get back. They're probably worried."

Standing up she reached out her hand, smiling again when he took it without question.

For the first time in two years, things felt right again.

-*-

She couldn't soothe the unease that seemed to be perpetually hanging over her nowadays. It slithered up from the ground, sinking into her bones, wrapping its cold hands around her neck, choking her until she could no longer breathe from the guilt and hatred. Pansy touched her neck uncomfortably. She hated coming here. He never failed to make her feel worthless, like a pawn to be used and then discarded.

She cleared her throat, her blue eyes flashing with annoyance as she stared at the back of his chair in the darkened room. It smelled of cigarette smoke and a hint of spices and herbs. Glancing into the corner she saw a cauldron over the fire. It was simmering. What was he up to now?

"Did you succeed?"

"Yes," she responded flatly. His voice was so smooth and seductive, seeming to wrap around her in a false state of safety.

"Excellent." She could almost hear the smirk in his voice. "I hope you are not with child," he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "That would be most inconvenient."

"I'm not an imbecile," Pansy retorted, clenching her hands in an attempt to calm her anger.

"And, what of the message?" He asked, seeming amused with her frustration.

"I haven't seen him. I don't know."

"You will see him tonight."

"He's not at my beck and-"

"You will see him tonight," the voice repeated, his tone harsh and cold. "Do not make me repeat myself once again. You know what the consequences will be."

Pansy let out a sigh and shook her head, tears of frustration clouding her eyes, "I am done with this," she spat. "He deserves to know. He doesn't deserve this. No one deserves-"

"He deserves nothing," he seethed, "You will do as I say."

She could feel the breath escape from her lungs as the screams invaded her mind. _No. Stop. Stop. Please._ The image burned into her brain as the screams grew louder. All of a sudden, she was released, her mind going black. She took in a deep breath and could feel the tears slip from her eyes as she said hatefully, "Yes, I will do as you say."

"Very well, you are dismissed."

Pansy rose to her full height, her nose in the air as she walked out of the room with her shattered pride and dignity. She was disgusted with herself yet she knew she could not sit around and do nothing as that animal tortured-

She stopped herself. No, she would not think of that. She needed to focus. Pausing at the entrance, she demanded, "You remember our agreement. Do not break it." She took his silence as an affirmation and stepped out of the oppressive room.

In moments, she had apparated back to her flat. Pansy rushed to the bathroom, throwing herself against the toilet as she dry heaved. She was disgusting. She stood up on shaky legs, viewing her own pallid reflection with repulsion. He was not the monster. She was. How could she do this to Draco? He had been one of her closest friends at Hogwarts, being one of the few people that treated her with a decent amount of respect and didn't act as if she were some vapid whore. She was spitting on that bond now and she hated herself for it.

_I will save you_, she promised to herself. But who would save her?

-*-

It had been nearly three weeks since Hermione reappeared and with every passing glance of pity and every piece of gossip, she missed her old life as Viola more and more. She was tired of seeing her name in the headlines of the Daily Prophet and she hated even more how she couldn't go out in public with people gasping, talking about her as if she didn't have eyes or ears. She wanted to scream out in frustration. It wasn't as if she had lost her mind or that she was a leper yet everyone seemed to treat her as such. No one knew of her secret of the missing memories, only Ron, Harry, Ginny, and Draco did. Yet, she was still treated as if she was some sort of freak show on display.

Hermione had refused to give any interviews upon her return which only seemed to spawn more rumors. The writers at the Daily Prophet seemed all the happier now that they could concoct their own wild stories at her expense. Within the past week alone she had read that she had been kidnapped, had run off with a Muggle, and her personal favorite, led a clandestine double-life as a stripper. In the end, they all ended the same. Whatever she had been occupied with for the past two years had failed and she had come crawling back to Harry Potter's door, begging to be welcomed back into his home and the magical world.

If only they knew.

Today's headline suggested that she had been doing some illegal research for the Muggle government and she had escaped back to the magical world as a means to avoid being jailed and then punished by death. Snorting with disgust, she threw the paper into the trash. She missed horribly and it landed on the floor. She made a move to pick it up until she heard a voice.

"It's alright. I've got it," Ron said with a smile, "You've always had bad aim."

Hermione laughed at this and took a sip of her tea, "It's never been one of my skills."

He poured himself a cup of tea before sitting down next to her, "Was it that bad?"

"Absolutely awful," she answered honestly, "They make me out to be a maniac. They seem to have forgotten that I helped save the Wizarding world only a few years ago. I feel like everyone is just watching me as if I'm some sort of entertainment or amusement, just waiting for me to make another wrong move or something."

Ron let out a sigh and put his hand over hers gently, "I'm sorry. They're all bloody idiots. Just forget them."

She smiled sadly, "I wish I could. I hope it doesn't last long."

"It looks like I'll have to embarrass myself in some way, give them something to really talk about and steal your spotlight," he waggled his eyebrows deviously.

"Well, you are keeper for the world-famous Cannons. It shouldn't be that difficult for you to stir some trouble."

"I'll do it on one condition," his blue eyes glimmering playfully.

"What?" Hermione beamed back.

"Promise me you'll smile more."

Her smile faltered at this as she took another awkward sip of her tea.

"I hate seeing you like this, Hermione. I miss you being happy."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "It's just been a difficult transition."

He nodded in understanding before he stood up, "It will get better, I promise." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "I have to get to practice but I'll be back tonight. See you at dinner."

He kissed her on the head before he left, leaving Hermione to her thoughts. After she and Draco had returned from their walk, Ron had apologized, his head kept down in shame the entire time. Hermione had tearfully forgiven him, hugging him tightly as a renewal of their friendship.

Harry had convinced the ministry to re-open her case. Almost immediately, they began interrogating her on a daily basis using Legilimency to invade her mind again and again, tracing over her memories, especially focusing upon the day she was captured and the day at the café when her memories returned to her. There was no distinguishing details.

On the day she was "captured", she had been in her living room getting ready to go to the event the ministry held every year on the anniversary of Voldemort's death. They honored the lives of all who had perished in the war, as well as reiterated the strong message that pureblood supremacy was a foolish and ridiculous notion of the past that would not be tolerated any longer. She hadn't wanted to go but the ministry was giving her, Harry, and Ron a medal of honor. She stepped out the door about to apparate when she smelled that same scent of tobacco and alcohol as before, feeling pain in her neck and head before everything went black. When she woke up she was on a bus to Edinburgh as Viola Reine, simply thinking she had dozed off.

Hermione massaged her temples trying her best to ease the thoughts in her head. She hated this continual invasion of her mind. She knew it was necessary as she was the only person that held any sort of hint or whisper as to what happened, but she couldn't help feel as if she was being continuously violated. It was like ripping open an old wound every single day. She just wanted everyone else out of her head permanently, to know the feeling of peace of mind again.

It would never happen.

Tomorrow, she and Harry would investigate Viola's old apartment. It felt so strange to talk about Viola as if she were a whole other person. She still remembered all of Viola's memories and still felt as if a large part of her was still Viola, just like a large part of Hermione would inevitably have been a part of Viola. She was one person. Just because she lost her memories didn't mean she wasn't still the same person, or did it? She honestly didn't know. Viola had been kind, gentle, loyal, and extremely dedicated. She had wanted more for herself and wanted to change the world.

Wasn't Hermione the same?

After finishing her tea and washing the cup, Hermione headed upstairs to her temporary room in Harry and Ginny's home. After she left, Harry and Ginny had moved most of her stuff into a guestroom. She looked around her room, sighing softly as she flopped onto the bed, closing her eyes.

Slowly she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, hoping that when she opened her eyes, she would remember everything.

-*-

Draco clenched his jaw as he held another mysterious note in his hand, desperately wanting to rip it to shreds or crumple it up and throw it into the fire. His grey eyes stared hatefully down at the neat writing:

_I from thee departed  
Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been  
Deceived in thy integrity, deceived  
In that which seems so._

It was from whoever erased Hermione's memories. He knew it. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. He repeated the words in his head, clenching the side of his desk in frustration. He didn't know where they came from or exactly what they meant. He did know the purpose, however. Whoever sent it wanted to taunt him – to give him clues, delighting as they blatantly hung it out in front of his face as he stared hopelessly and blankly at it, never being able to find an answer.

After he received the first note he had tore through the library in the manor hoping to find a reference to the lines, yet he could find nothing. He had even gone as far as showing Potter, hoping that perhaps he would recognize the words yet they drew a blank. He simply took the note and filed it as evidence, promising that his team would do extensive research upon it.

Draco felt a sickening feeling creep up within him, seeming to completely engulf him. He needed to find whoever was sending these notes to him, yet they always mysteriously appeared from thin air. Always on the desk of his study without a trace. They were unsigned and he had already done several revealing spells on each of them hoping that the person had slipped up. Nothing each time. He had cut floo access to the manor to only a select few hoping that it would stop the notes but apparently it hadn't work. Whoever was sending this was either someone incredibly close to him or someone incredibly clever, perhaps both.

He let out a sigh, his face in the palm of his hands. He needed to find out who the culprit was and he needed to find out soon. Whoever had done this to Hermione was still out there and he didn't want to think of what else they were capable of.

-*-


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter 5: The storm is coming soon**

_They say we're buried far just like a distant star I simply cannot hold. Is love alive? This is my winter song to you. December never felt so wrong cause you're not where you belong inside my arms. I still believe in summer days. The seasons always change and life will find a way. I'll be your harvester of light and send it out tonight so we can start again._ – Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson, "Winter Song"

-*-

**A/N**: So sorry for the ridiculously long wait on this chapter! I just moved back to the states and I've been busy with real life (unfortunately). But, I am all moved in and ready to write again. Hope this is worth the wait.

-*-

He was staring at her again.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she leaned back against the plastic chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Harry had only been gone for a few minutes but she needed him like a security blanket. She had never felt comfortable in the ministry let alone sitting in a bright, florescent-lit room with Draco Malfoy staring daggers into her while she, quite unconvincingly, attempted to avoid his gaze.

She knew she was being incredibly immature and that running away was never the option but she felt that after all that she had gone through in the past few weeks, she deserved to be just a tiny bit selfish and inconsiderate. It was too bad that Draco had to bear the brunt of the pain. She was such a child. She had kissed him on an impulse and then proceeded to avoid him like the plague since. He had been gentle and understanding and didn't push her but in the past few days, he seemed to have grown impatient and annoyed with behavior. Thus began the staring.

And the chair wasn't helping matters either. Hermione shifted again and clasped her hands together, placing them on the cool metal table, her eyes darting at the door. How long did it take to gather notes anyway? She silently ran over the curses she could direct at her best friend when he finally walked through the door as punishment.

She could hear him sigh from across the table. The floor creaked as he slid his chair back slightly. Hermione looked up, peeking at him from beneath her lashes and hair. His eyes were closed, his posture stiff as he made a feeble attempt at massaging his temples. He looked extremely stressed and worried. She guessed he probably wasn't sleeping well. Nevertheless, he was still extremely beautiful. His golden bangs fell across his face as he exhaled deeply, his chest puffing out, his muscles stretching against his white button-down shirt.

Hermione let out a soft gasp. Honestly, it wasn't as if she had never seen an attractive man before but there was just something about Draco Malfoy that drew her in. It was what made her lose all rational thought and provided the impetus for her to kiss him all those weeks ago. It was what made her look like an absolute fool, mouth open, appearances forgotten as she simply stared at him and his reverent beauty.

"Enjoying the view?"

Draco's trademark smirk tainted his almost angelic appearance. Hermione immediately frowned before she huffed, "Must you always be so pretentious?"

"Must you never give me a straight answer?" He asked, his tone playful.

Her eyes narrowed but the blush that colored her cheeks gave away her embarrassed state and cracked her angry and affronted façade. She turned away from him and cleared her throat, shifting in her seat yet again.

The ministry should really invest in more comfortable chairs. She wondered who she could contact about that.

"How much longer do you plan on avoiding me?"

Hermione stiffened at his question. She was about to open her mouth, uncertain of what answer would spill from her lips when Harry walked through the door, his hair in disarray, his face worn and tired. His green eyes still shone brightly however and he offered a small smile at Hermione.

"I'm sorry about the wait. It took me ages to collect all the notes together," he placed a few file folders and a brown cardboard box in front of her, "It's not much but it is something."

Hermione stood up, her hand tentatively reaching out towards the pile.

"Go right ahead. You are the primary source of information on this case and it's about time that we involve you in the actual investigation apart from questioning you."

She nodded, her hands grabbing the first big file folder. She sat there silently, her curious brown eyes intently scanning and reading over the notes.

Draco and Harry each grabbed a folder as well and the three worked in silence. An hour had passed before Draco finally spoke, "Any leads on those notes, Potter?"

"None," Harry answered, shaking his head and running his hands through his messy hair, "I know I've seen it before but I just can't place it."

"It's strangely familiar, isn't it? Whoever is doing this is purposefully taunting me," Draco bit out bitterly.

"Notes?" Hermione asked, her brows furrowed.

Harry reached into the brown box and dug out two parchment notes, handing them to Hermione. "Draco has been receiving these mysterious notes for the past two weeks. They're both unsigned and there's no trace of magic on them. We can't seem to figure out the meaning behind them either."

Hermione read them carefully, her frown deepening. She shook her head, almost in disbelief as she looked up at Draco and then at Harry, whispering in a shaken voice, "It's Shakespeare."

"Shakespeare?" Draco frowned, confusion marring his features, "The muggle playwright? Why would someone send me notes with lines from Shakespeare's works?"

"That's not all," Hermione continued, her face still showing shock, "It's not just any Shakespeare play. It's from _The Winter's Tale_."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"That's where my name is from. My parents named me Hermione after the queen in the play." Hermione's eyes suddenly widened as a chill ran down her spine, "Reine," she whispered, "Viola Reine."

"I'm not following you, Hermione," Harry said slowly as he moved closer, "What does Viola Reine have to do with Shakespeare?"

"Reine is French for queen just as Granger is a French derivative. Viola is a character from another Shakespeare play as well. Whoever wrote these notes is the same person that kidnapped me, tampered with my mind, and fabricated my existence as Viola."

"Isn't Viola a character from _Twelfth Night_?" Draco asked carefully, his grey eyes flashing.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Good lord, Potter," Draco said condescendingly, "Do you not indulge in literature whatsoever?"

"I thought muggle authors were beneath you and most pureblood interests," Harry bit back, annoyed and slightly embarrassed by his lack of literary knowledge.

"A man should always know his Shakespeare," he smirked, seeming almost gleeful that he had figured out a piece of the puzzle that neither Saint Potter nor Hermione knew the answer to. "Viola's character is most famous for her disguise. She is not as she seems. Just as Viola Reine was not who she seemed to be," he concluded, his voice triumphant.

"_Deceived in thy integrity, deceived in that which seems so_," Hermione repeated, "They're taunting us," she said in disgust, "Whoever it is."

"Not us," Draco said firmly, "Me."

"You?"

"Just what is that supposed to mean?"

Draco simply smiled in amusement at their angry faces, "The notes were sent to me. Therefore, the message was directed at me and solely me. If they were meant for you or Potter, they would've been sent accordingly but seeing as how they arrived on my desk, the messages are for me. They are taunting me."

"What significance does that hold?" Hermione asked, her voice weary.

"Quite a bit, actually," Harry answered before Draco could open his mouth, "If these messages are in fact aimed at Malfoy then whoever the sender is means this as an attack upon him. Do you have any known enemies or people that would want to personally hurt you? I understand if you have difficulty remembering the sheer amount of people that would wish you unwell."

Draco simply snorted in response, "I'm reformed, Potter. Need I remind you that I fought on the side of the light during the war?" He shrugged, "I made plenty of enemies with that move alone but everyone on that list is either dead or locked up in Azkaban."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, her hands twisting in her lap, "I don't understand. If whoever did this meant to attack Draco then why wouldn't they erase his memories? Why me?"

"Because I love you."

His words hung in the air. Hermione felt her lungs contract sharply as she tried to steady her thoughts. He loved her. She knew that. In her heart, she felt that same familiar tug as if it were screaming at her, forcing her to face the truth that somewhere deep inside, she had always known that almost as if it were an universal truth. Draco Malfoy loved Hermione Granger.

But, he didn't use the past tense. He said love as in present as in he still did and still does to this very moment. She could hear her heart beating rapidly in her ear as she struggled to find her voice. "They hurt me to get to you?" she whispered.

"Based upon what we know so far, yes," Harry said softly. He reached out to Hermione's arm and rubbed it gently, "It does make sense. It explains why you seem to remember everything and everyone except him."

Hermione shook her head in frustration, "I don't understand. If whoever did this wanted to hurt you," she looked up at Draco, her brown eyes shining with tears and disbelief, "Why would they take me away only to bring me back? Why wouldn't they just kill me outright?"

"Another form of torture, I suppose," Draco answered honestly, "I lost you once and that killed me enough but then you finally return only not completely." He looked down, his voice almost cracking, "It's unbearable." He let out a sigh, "It's to slowly torture me until I lose my bloody mind."

She wanted to reach out to him and comfort him yet at the same time she wanted to run away and scream until she no longer had a voice. It was because of him that she lost two years of her life. It was because of him that she was attacked. It was because of him that she had been ripped away from all that she had known. She knew she shouldn't feel resentment towards him but she didn't have time to sort out all the emotions that bubbled at the surface and she couldn't think. Her brain wouldn't work and all she that flashed through her mind were memories of all that she had lost and all that she would never experience because someone wanted to use her as a pawn as revenge against Draco. That was all she was. A pawn. Completely worthless on her own accord and easily replaceable. She wasn't even the primary target.

She knew she shouldn't hate him but in that moment all she wanted to do was kick and scream and hit him until he gave it all back to her. She wanted her life back. She wanted her memories back.

She wanted nothing to do with Draco Malfoy.

It was because of him that she was in her current situation and she would be damned if she would let her association with him be her downfall again. She hardened herself and simply glared at his downturned head before turning to Harry, "We should go to my-" she paused before correcting herself, "Viola's apartment and I want to be brought onto this investigation as a full-time researcher."

"Of course," Harry said immediately. He gathered up the files and headed for the door, "I'll just put these away but I'll be back in a few minutes."

Hermione stood up abruptly. Harry looked at her curiously and Draco simply lifted his head, his eyes vacant, his face flashed with guilt before he replaced it with a blank mask of indifference. "I'll come with you."

Harry nodded, carrying the files out of the room. Her hand was on the door knob when he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry they hurt you. If I had known-" he stopped himself before letting out a self-deprecating sigh, "I'm sorry."

Hermione nodded tersely, only sparing him a perfunctory glance before exiting.

-*-

"Why did you always torment me so much as a child?" Hermione asked before she placed a soft kiss to his forehead. She smiled sweetly as she watched him relax and rest peacefully.

He pulled the sheets closer to his naked chest, his eyes still closed, "It was fun and before I truly began to think for myself, I blindly believed all that rubbish my father spoon-fed me. I never thought twice about it," he opened his eyes and stared at her intently, "until you."

"Should I feel honored?"

"But, of course," he smiled at her reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Besides, you were always so bloody sexy when you were all riled up. Never failed to get me hard."

Hermione blushed prettily, "Insufferable brat."

"Your insufferable brat," Draco returned, pulling her willing body into his arms. He kissed the top of her head, silent for a few moments before he said softly, "It won't be easy, you know? They'll hate me for turning. My own father will probably eviscerate me and every single Death Eater and Voldemort will be knocking at my door." His hold on her tightened, "I can't promise that I can always protect you. No matter how much I want to. I can't let them hurt you, Hermione. I don't know what I'd do with myself if something happened to you. I-"

"Draco," she looked up into his eyes and grabbed his chin firmly, placing a soft kiss on his lips, "I love you and I will give up the world to be with you and to be loved by you. I'm not a helpless kitten. Whatever happens, you will be my side as I am by yours. We'll get through it. I know we will."

He kissed her softly, his mind still filled and tainted with horrendous images. He couldn't lose her. She was everything. Hermione sensed his unease and caressed the side of his face before pushing him onto his back. She straddled him and looked down at him, her eyes shining, "I will always be yours. They can never take me away."

"Promise?"

"Always."

-*-


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter 6: Pray it won't fade away **

_I won't let the shadows take their toll. I won't cover my head in the dark and I won't forget you when we part. I won't heal given time. I won't try to change your mind. I won't feel better in the cold light of day but I wouldn't stop you if you wanted to stay._ – Porcupine Tree, "Collapse the Light into Earth"

Pansy was sitting in his chair when he entered the study. He narrowed his eyes as she lifted a note from off the desk using her fingers to play with it before she held it between her middle and forefinger.

"I believe you have an admirer. Getting anonymous messages with declarations of love?" she smirked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.

Draco let out a sigh, running his hand through is blond locks in a tired fashion, "I'm really not in the mood for this right now. Why are you here?"

"Can't I visit a friend?"

"We're not friends, Pansy," he said acerbically, lashing out at her thoughtlessly. He just wanted to sit in the corner and brood, perhaps get extremely inebriated as well.

Pansy's eyes flashed with pain for a brief moment before she quickly hid it behind a sneer, "What's got your knickers in a twist?"

"Piss off and get out of my house," he nearly snarled as he walked towards her, ripping the note away from her prying fingers.

"Ever the welcoming host."

He ignored her words and looked down at the note in his hands. It was the same. It was always the same. The same parchment, the same red wax seal, and as he opened the letter, he knew that inside would be the same writing with another taunting passage that's purpose was still the same: to rip him from inside out, slowly, painfully, and without mercy.

Draco read the note in anxious silence.

_A servant grafted in my serious trust  
And therein negligent; or else a fool  
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,  
And takest it all for jest._

"What's it say?"

"Nothing of importance," he faked nonchalance as he folded the note back up and placed it on his desk in the corner furthest away from Pansy's grasps. "Honestly, why are you here?"

Pansy nearly flinched as she felt his gaze upon her. His eyes were a deep blue and she could see the pain beneath his carefully controlled façade. She was part of the reason for that pain even though he didn't know it. He would never know it. She could never be honest with him and tell him the truth. As righteous as she wanted to be, she knew she would never be strong enough to tell Draco everything. It had gone on for too long. She was too involved.

He would never forgive her.

She couldn't lose him. He was the one constant and friend that she had her entire life and yes, she drove him crazy and yes, they often verbally attacked each other but underneath it all, she really did love him and she knew he loved her too. Not in a romantic way, though she did have feelings for him at one point in her Hogwarts years, but nevertheless, Draco had always been in her heart.

And here she was, betraying him and lying to his face all the while keeping a fake smile plastered to her face.

She was supposed to sleep with him tonight. Her latest task was to get Draco into bed again. She didn't bother asking why but she could only assume that things with Hermione were not going well for Draco and that this was just another way to break him further. He loved her so much, Pansy knew and because of his weakness, his need for someone to love him back, to care for him, to touch him, he would give in and when morning came, he would hurt.

She didn't want to hurt him but she had to. She had to protect the one she cared about and while she loved Draco there would always be one other person that occupied a greater space in her heart and they would always come first.

So, she had to do this. She knew it would kill him and she could do nothing but watch helplessly on the sideline as he burned and deteriorated into a shell of the man he was before.

His back was turned to her. She gently caressed his shoulder, shutting her eyes. In that moment, there was no one else. It was only Pansy and Draco and they were friends. Life was simple. His grey eyes still glimmered with happiness and his lips still turned up into his boyish smile with a hint of a smirk.

He was happy and she was happy for him.

The moment passed and the next thing she knew, she was throwing herself into his arms, kissing him forcefully. She poured her sorrow and regret into it, hoping to convey to him how worthless and pathetic she knew she was. How she never meant to hurt him and how much hurting him was hurting her. She wanted to slap him upside the head and demand that he go after Granger and drag her to his bed and handcuff her there, if need be, until she loved him again. She wanted to tell him that all he needed to do was show her his memories and she would love him again. She wanted to tell him everything.

She wanted to be a good friend and give him advice only a woman could give. She wanted to help him win the girl of his dreams back.

But, instead she was curling her arms around his body, unwillingly taking part in his destruction.

Granger had rejected him again and she would keep rejecting him because she had no one else to put the blame on. And Pansy knew Draco would never cave and show her his memories because of his goddamn pride. He wanted her to come back to him on his own accord. He didn't want to force her and he didn't want to make her feel that she was obligated to be with him.

He truly loved her.

And, Pansy knew that because of that, he would let Hermione go if that was what she wanted.

Pansy choked back a sob and continued to kiss him. _Please don't ever let her go. Don't give up Draco. Don't ever let her go._ _Don't give up on her. _

Because if he did, she would die. _He_ would kill her.

-*-

"Hermione," Harry asked, his face flushing with embarrassment, "What happens in _The Winter's Tale_?" He fumbled with his fingers awkwardly, "I never managed to get my hands on a copy of Shakespeare growing up. The Dursleys weren't big readers. Shocking, I know."

She smiled in return, squeezing his shoulder, "You can borrow some of my books. I know I have some Shakespeare lying around somewhere. Besides, it's one of his more obscure plays anyway so don't be embarrassed."

Hermione walked alongside Harry towards Viola's flat. The apparition point was a few minutes distance away from the flat. It wouldn't do to apparate directly to her doorstep as the flat was in the middle of muggle Edinburgh. It would've been quite shocking indeed to appear out of nowhere and scare the living daylights of the passersby.

"It's really quite a sad story. Hermione is the queen to King Leontes. In the beginning of the play, the king's best friend Polixines is about to leave and return to his kingdom. Leontes begs him to stay but Polixines refuses. Finally, Leontes asks Hermione to convince him because she is a better orator. After she talks to him, he agrees to stay but Leontes becomes incredibly jealous and paranoid, convinced that they were having an affair. He arrests her and she supposedly dies of grief while in prison. Like any foolish and irrational bastard, he realizes his mistake and mourns for the next 16 years. At the end of the play, Hermione returns and it's proclaimed to be a miracle." She laughed at Harry's incredulous face.

"Why on earth would your parents ever name you after her?"

She smiled and shrugged, "It's supposed to be a comedy but I always found the story to be rather tragic. My mom thought it was a nice love story."

"It is tragic," Harry nodded in agreement, "I'm happy I didn't read it now."

Hermione simply laughed again before she walked up the steps to her flat. She whispered a quick unlocking spell before she stepped through the door.

Everything was just as she left it.

"So, what exactly are we looking for?"

"Anything, really. Anything that might seem out of place or non-muggle. Anything that might lead to whoever did this to you." Harry sat down on her couch, smiling as he spotted a familiar title resting on the coffee table, "Perfect! Can I borrow this?" He held up the paperback, "I know I said I didn't want to read it but I can't help my morbid curiosity."

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she took an unconscious step back, "That's not mine."

"What?" Harry dropped the book back onto the table as if he had just been burned.

"That's not mine. Someone put that there."

On her coffee table amidst scattered magazines and newspapers was a well-worn copy of _The Winter's Tale_.

-*-

He was staring again. Hermione wanted to be annoyed at him but she couldn't rid the guilt in the pit of her stomach. She knew she had no right to be irritated with him. He had been nothing but respectful and patient but she felt that it seemed everyone had just assumed that she would run back into his arms and everything would be roses and sunshine once again.

She didn't remember him. She might've loved him in a previous life but right now, in that moment, she didn't know what she felt. She didn't know what it felt like to love Draco Malfoy. She didn't remember. Every time she looked at him, she just felt an itching inside of her heart, a hollow. Like something that had been there before had been torn out of her but she couldn't remember. She didn't know what it was to love him.

She barely knew him.

It was all too easy to hate him and to distance herself away from him. He was an easy target and he seemed to accept her avoidance, almost as if he felt that it was some form of deserved punishment.

She was conflicted and upset and guilty and confused and desperate and annoyed. She wanted to fill that void inside of her and she just wanted to be rid of that damn pull in her heart. She wanted to be left alone. She wanted someone to wrap their arms around her and caress her hair and whisper sweet nothings. She wanted to crawl into bed and never leave. She wanted him to crawl in with her and never let her go. One person could not possibly feel this much and Hermione felt that she was close to spontaneously combusting.

Her heart and mind were tired.

She didn't know what to do. What was the right thing to do now? She had always prided herself on being a good person—one with strong morals and standards and one that never purposefully hurt others. She was always the good girl. Yet, she was at a loss for what the next step was.

She should apologize to Draco for the appalling way she had been treating him and what was next? Should they be friends?

Could she do that to him? She knew he was still passionately and desperately in love with her. It would probably be a slap in the face if she asked him to repress those feelings and just be friends.

Did she want more? She didn't know him well enough to decide that. Hermione let out a frustrated sigh and looked up, unsurprised to see Draco staring intently at her, not even pretending to read the files lying in front of him on the desk.

"I'm sorry," she whispered quietly.

He seemed surprised. At what? Her apology? The fact that she was actually speaking to him without malice?

Hermione felt the guilt inch a little deeper into her heart. "I know I've been extremely unfair to you for the past few weeks and I'm truly sorry for that. It's just been," she waved her hands around her head, "a bit jumbled up here."

He was quiet. Hermione regarded his stiffened posture with a wary eye. What was he thinking? "I would like to make it up to you."

No reaction.

"Perhaps dinner?" she asked softly, "I'm not much of a cook but I try."

"You never were," Draco mused gently, his face nostalgic.

"I need to be honest with you," Hermione said quietly. She played with the hem of her skirt, "I'm not her anymore."

His brow furrowed in confusion as he waited for her to elaborate.

"Whatever it is that you remember and whoever it was that you fell in love with is a different person than the one I am now. I know you want me to just jump back into a loving relationship with you but I can't. I don't love you, Draco," she said honestly, "I don't remember you. I don't know you."

His face was pained and Hermione knew she was hurting him yet she pushed on, "But, I want to. It won't be easy and I know it will be frustrating for you to repeat it all again but I do want to try. I want to love you."

Hermione looked down, unable to look him the eye as she waited for a response. She brushed some invisible lint from her dress.

"I'll do the cooking. I don't want to get food poisoning on our first date."

Her stomach tingled at his words and her head snapped up as a wide smile graced her face, "I wouldn't want the burden of taking care of you for the entire night anyway. Quite tiresome, I'm sure."

He smirked at her, "Tomorrow night then?"

"Perfect."

-*-


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter 7: I need you so much closer **

_I didn't know if you wanted to when I came to pick you up. You didn't even hesitate and now you and me are on our way. Don't look back. Don't think of the other places you should have been. It's a good thing that you came along. You'll shine like gold in the air of summer._ – Kings of Convenience, "Gold in the Air of Summer"

He was still the most handsome man that she had ever laid eyes on.

Hermione sat at her dresser, her fingers gently tracing over the angles of his face, lingering on the curve of his lips and his smile. She smiled sadly back at him. She knew she should've returned the photograph. After all, it had clearly been taken at a point in his life that she didn't remember and it had been a gift from him to her when they had been lovers. Every time she set her eyes upon it now, she felt as if she were doing something she shouldn't. His smile was for a person she could no longer remember.

After all, it wasn't just Draco that she couldn't recall. She also had no memories of herself when she was with him and that was what bothered her the most. What kind of person couldn't remember a part of themselves? Did she really love him in return? What were her feelings? What were her dreams? What were her aspirations? Did she want to marry him? Have kids? Settle down?

Nothing. Her mind was a complete blank and Hermione could feel the familiar pounding pain in her head once again as she tried to see what was not there.

She touched the worn edges of the photograph and shook her head. She knew she would never be able to give it up. She felt like it was the one thing that she possessed from her previous life with Draco. It was the only thing that wasn't ripped away from her when she disappeared. She knew it was stupid, non-sensical, and illogical but a part of her felt like if she kept the photograph, there would always be hope. Here in her hands laid the one piece of concrete evidence that at some point in her life, she had remembered him and felt deeply for him and that he returned those feelings with equal fervor. He was happy and he smiled so naturally and with genuine emotion that she knew it was not a fabrication. It was true. It was real. His love for her had been real.

It was not something as fleeting and fragile as a memory. This was something solid. She could feel it her hands and she would never let it go.

It was the only thing she had left.

-*-

He couldn't believe how fucking nervous he was. He was an adult, damn it. He was not supposed to have sweaty palms before picking a girl up for a date. He was acting like a bloody first year. Draco stood in front of the door to her flat, a bouquet that the florist had guaranteed would sweep her off her feet in his hand. He simply stared at it in confusion. Why women always loved flowers so much was beyond him. They were expensive, attracted insects, and died all too quickly. At least with the aid of magic, these flowers would never die.

He had the sudden urge to scratch his neck and loosen his tie. He felt like all the air had escaped from his lungs and refused to return. His shirt was constricting and the temperature in the hallway seemed to have escalated to a near-tortuous degree.

This was absolutely ridiculous. He was going mad. He knew it.

Slowly, he brought his hand up to the wooden door and knocked, letting out a slow breath, hoping to calm his nerves.

As soon as she opened the door, he felt the air rush out of him again but this time, for another reason entirely.

She was wearing a light pink dress and a loose black cardigan. Her hair fell down around her in soft curls and he could tell that she had put just a hint of makeup on.

She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. And, it killed him that she was no longer his. She was so close but he needed her closer. He had always needed her closer.

Braving a smile, he handed her a bouquet, surprising even himself at how calm and composed he sounded when he finally spoke, "You're beautiful."

Hermione blushed prettily, thanking him softly for the flowers before she welcomed him in.

"It still looks the same," he glanced around, "I'm glad you kept it that way. I always thought it was the perfect flat for you."

"I really haven't had much of a chance to do any rearrangements to be perfectly honest. Working on this case has kept me pretty busy," she looked around the flat and shrugged, "I rather like it the way it is though." She moved into the kitchen, reaching for a glass vase before filling it with water, "This bouquet is gorgeous. I thought I needed a bit of color to liven up this place. I love purple."

"You always did," he whispered, more to himself than her. He felt another strong pang in his chest as he watched her busy herself with arranging the flowers in the vase. He was being an idiot. Why was he brooding and upset? She had been completely upfront with him and he knew that she didn't remember anything about him or about them.

Yet, every time she said anything or did anything that reminded him of the past, he couldn't help but hurt and yearn for it desperately. He did still love her, he told himself. He would always love her. But, that love was for a person that no longer existed, it seemed.

She was so different yet still the same. She still bit her lip when she was intensely concentrating while reading. She still played with her hands when she was nervous. She still hummed softly as she did some mundane task, as she was doing right at this moment.

But, he never heard her laugh anymore. Never truly laugh – one that consumed her entire body and lit up her entire being. She never looked at him with one of her gentle, "I love you" glances whenever their eyes met. She never smiled at him for no reason whatsoever.

He knew it was bound to happen. Two years changed a person and yet, he would be lying if he said that he didn't think they would just pick up where they left off. He knew that he should be happy she was even giving him a chance but he had never been a patient man. He always got what he wanted and damn it, hadn't he waited long enough?

It was all so frustrating.

Yet, she was worth it. She always had been.

-*-

Hermione giggled and took another sip of her white wine, "You know it helps to breathe through your anger."

Draco simply huffed back at her, over-exaggerating his annoyance as he threw his hands up into the air, "I can't believe you don't think he's one of the most brilliant men today."

"I think his theory is absolutely absurd. I refuse to believe that magic is something that can't be perfected and learned given time and effort. What William Abbot proposes puts an end for the necessity of education and practice. You might as well shut Hogwarts down if you truly believe that," Hermione rolled her eyes and nibbled on a breadstick.

"It's perfectly logical. How else do you explain the innate ability that certain wizards have over others?"

"I'm not disagreeing on that account. I do believe that certain wizards do have more talent for magic than others but to say that one's entire magical power is bestowed upon them at birth? Absolutely preposterous." She shook her head, "I find that I am the perfect textbook example against such a claim. From firsthand account, I know that my magic has improved because of my reading and endless practice."

"See, but that's where you're wrong, Granger," he teased, "You've always had that magical power within you. With reading and practice, you've simply been polishing it, making it better but not necessarily stronger or increasing its power."

"Are you saying that you at age three were just as powerful as you are now?"

"At age three, I hadn't tapped into all of my magical power yet. Even at age thirteen, I hadn't but now, I have."

She looked at him incredulously, "I can't believe you don't think he's a quack."

"I think you're a quack for not believing him."

Hermione laughed, almost snorting on her wine which only caused her to laugh even harder, "You certainly know how to charm a lady."

"I do my best," he smiled back at her, basking in the glow and sound of her laughter. God, he had missed her so much. He missed this.

Yawning, Hermione began clearing the plates, "I have to say, this was all quite delicious. I would never have pegged you for a cook."

"I decided to take cooking lessons last year. It was on a whim," his voice was softer, tinged with a hint of pain, "I needed something to pass the time."

"I should take cooking lessons," she smiled at him, touching his elbow gently, hoping to convey her feelings though she couldn't bring herself to actually voice them, "Though I doubt they would help."

Draco turned towards her, placing his hand on top of hers and brought her body closer to his. She still smelled exactly the same. Absolutely divine. He leaned in closer, his eyes stormy, his mind a mess of emotions and softly, pressed his lips against hers.

She was surprised at first but after a moment, returned his kiss with equal passion. She opened her mouth to his, their tongues playfully fighting back and forth, her hands running all across his body and up into his hair.

It just felt right. He felt right.

Draco pulled back gently, placing one last kiss on her temple, still keeping a hold around her. Hermione looked up at him, almost shyly and laughed, "Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night as well?"

He simply nodded, placing his forehead to hers.

-*-

Pansy's heels clicked against the hardwood floor as she approached him. She slammed her hand down onto his desk, her body shaking slightly from the impact.

"How much longer will this go on? How much longer will you make me do this against my will?" She spat at him.

"I would think you rather enjoyed these little trysts with him. Have you not always pined for him?"

"He is my friend," she said in contempt, "And he loves her not me. It is something that I have accepted and I have moved on," she stepped closer, her sense flooded with the smell of alcohol and tobacco. It sickened her. "It is time that you do the same," she yelled at him, "It has been nearly three years since she's died. Your revenge against him will not bring her back. When will you-"

He had his hand around her neck before she could even finish her sentence. He merely smirked at her, tightening his hold, "Do you know how easy it would be for me to snap your neck right now?" His fingers dug into her skin, "Perhaps I should snap your mother's neck. Would that make you more compliant?"

Pansy's eyes immediately clouded with fear. Her protests came out as gurgles as she struggled against his hold.

His smirk deepened and he let her go, throwing her to the side, her body slamming against the bookcase, "I thought as much."

"Don't you dare touch her."

"I don't believe you're in the position to be giving threats, Ms. Parkinson" he said lazily, taking a sip of an amber liquid, "Unlike you, I remember the terms of our agreement. Your mother's life will be safe as long as you continue to carry out my demands," he narrowed his eyes at her, "Without question."

She coughed and rose up on her feet, her balance wavering, "I hate you."

He laughed, his rich and deep baritone ringing in the room and reverberating off the walls. Pansy cringed and looked down, ashamed of herself.

"I have no task for you tonight." He waved his hand in dismissal, "Leave me be."

Pansy pushed herself off of the bookcase and began to walk out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Oh, by the way," he called out, "Delightful shoes."

She looked down at the red heels she wore and swore to burn them as soon as she got home.

-*-

Hermione pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face as she stared down at the red wax seal in frustration. It was so familiar. She knew she had seen it somewhere before but she just couldn't place the memory.

She let out a sigh of frustration, not even hearing as Harry walked through the door.

"Everything alright?"

She looked up at him and smiled, loosening her shoulders, "Just a bit annoyed. I know I've seen this seal before but I can't seem to remember where," she pointed at the piles of books of her desk, "I can't seem to find it anywhere either."

He sat at the edge of her desk and touched her shoulder gently, "You'll get it, Hermione. It just takes time."

"I just feel as if time is running out against us. Whoever is sending these notes won't send them forever. I can't help but feel as if one of these days something terrible is going to happen. It's like an impending doom."

Harry nodded, his green eyes darkening with worry.

Hermione let out another sigh and leaned back against the chair, "So, any luck with Viola's flat?"

"Nothing. I sent a full team of Aurors to do a sweep and check but we came up with nothing. No magical trace and no other detectable presence besides your own. If that book hadn't been there, I would say that no one had entered that flat since the last time you left."

Her brow furrowed, "I wonder why he decided to place the book in my flat. Why is he giving us the answer? I mean, if we hadn't figured it out before then we definitely would have at that point. Why is he helping us?"

"Maybe he's getting impatient? Maybe it's just another step in his plan. Perhaps those notes were never meant to confuse us all along. Perhaps he wanted us to figure it out and come after him. I don't know."

"I wish I could remember. I feel so useless. All the answers should be in my head instead I'm-"

Harry immediately stood up and grabbed her by the shoulders, "Don't ever say that. You have been amazing, Hermione. We would have absolutely nothing to go on if not for what you do remember and your help with cracking several mysteries in this case."

She smiled unconvincingly up at him and shook herself out of his grasp, ignoring the pained look in his eyes, "I should get back to researching."

"Yes," he nodded, "I'll keep you updated." Without another word, he left the room.

Hermione rubbed her temples before pulling another book from the stack in front of her, this one a history of pureblood families.

Letting out a heavy sigh, she opened the cover and began reading.

-*-

Draco sat in confusion at his desk, the contents of the letter splayed out in front of him. It had arrived in the same fashion as the notes always did—mysteriously and suddenly out of nowhere. He tore through the same red wax seal, expecting another few lines from Shakespeare and yet, the letter was completely blank.

Instead, two pressed and dried flowers laid against the old parchment. One blood red and the other a light pink.

-*-

**Author's Note:** So! Some more pieces to the puzzle. I'm guessing that this story will have another four or five chapters so lots of secrets revealed soon! Most exciting. Just adding a little plug for my new story, "Fête Galante". If you like art, romance, and seduction – check it out!


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